Dare to Dream?
by goodgirl275
Summary: Richard has a nightmare. Sorry I used the English names, I was feeling lazy... Oh well! There's like one mild swear word. I'm still rating this T


Richard Moore had been having a good day. He solved a case, Rachel had the day off school and they spent some quality time together, and he had had just enough beer to get a buzz, but wasn't fully inebriated. Then, of course, he had to run into a body.

He had been taking his daughter and the freeloader out to dinner, when there was a crash from the Kitchen and some yelling. He and the brat had rushed over immediately, of course, and had found the sous-chef dead, a knife sticking out of his back.

Soon after, the police had been called, and Inspector McGuire and his team began to inspect the area.

"Richard!" Inspector McGuire called to the sleeping sleuth. "Good ta see ya, pal. We got a stiff over here and no one can figure out who killed him!"

"I can solve it in a jiffy!" Richard replied, fully entering the room. As he moved to inspect the body, he noticed Conan talking to some of the forensics team.

"… do a toxin analysis on the body?"

"And why would we do that, huh, kiddo?" Forensic Guy 1 inquired.

"Oh, boy," whispered Forensic Guy 2 to Forensic Guy 3. "New guy questioned Conan!"

"That kid is scary… Scary good!" Forensic Guy 3 responded.

Conan took a deep breath. "Detective Moore wants you to search for toxins on the corpse because stabbing is obviously NOT the cause of death!"

"There's a knife stickin' out of 'im. He died by being stabbed," Forensic Guy 1 rebutted.

Heaving a long suffering sigh, Conan began to speak: "I'm really surprised a forensics expert like you didn't notice. Look at the wounds on his back."

"Wounds? But there's hardly any blood."

"Exactly. When you're stabbed after death, the blood has already started to congeal and less blood is lost. When you're still alive, the blood has a force behind it - the beating of a heart, pushing more and more blood out of the wound."

"But the knife is still in his back, the blood wouldn't have been able to get out either way."

"But there are other wounds, from the same knife, in his back. He didn't die by stabbing. The other wounds would have bled more."

The forensic scientist stared at the small boy, mouth agape.

"Or, at least, that's how Detective Moore explained it to me!" Conan said, slipping into a childish persona, and giggled nervously.

"… I'll run the toxicology screening." Forensics Guy 1 said, and walked away, wobbling slightly.

"Damn, that kid is scary," muttered Forensics Guy 3 under his breath.

Soon enough, the lab results came in. The man had somehow swallowed cyanide, and roughly an hour later, the body had been discovered. Someone had stabbed the corpse about twenty times, and left the knife in his back. Since the body was in a dark corner by the industrial dishwasher, it had not been discovered until the first wave of dirty utensils, plates, and cups had arrived.

Just as Richard was preparing to move to question the suspects, he felt a mosquito bight his neck. Slapping a hand over it, the detective stumbled as a wave of drowsiness swept over him. As he was closing his eyes, the last thing he saw was Conan shuffle over, asking if he was okay while lifting a red bow tie to his mouth.

.

.

.

Hey

.

.

.

Wake up.

.

.

.

I said, wake up!

Richard snapped to attention. He was still at the crime scene, sitting hunched on an old, rickety looking stool. Conan was perched atop a similar looking stool, bow tie in hand. Richard looked around. Everyone had left the room except for him, Conan, and the corpse of the sous-chef, situated perfectly between the two sleuths.

"Conan, where is everyone?" Richard asked.

"Don't you know, Richard?" Richard said.

Wait.

Conan had said it in Richard's voice.

"You told them the answer. The followed your directions." Richard's voice once again came from Conan's body.

"What… what are you talking about?" Richard said slowly.

"Oh, Great Detective Moore, you're such a looser!" Richard's voice once again said.

"Who are you calling a loser?!" Richard shouted, leaping to his feet.

"Does this voice not suit you?" Conan asked, then spoke in McGuire's voice. "Is this any better, you useless bum of a man?"

"OK, what is going on here?!"

"Oh, nothing," Conan finally said in his own voice. "Nothing. At. All." Ran's voice was the last he heard as the world darkened, and crumbled away around him.

Richard shot up out of his bed, nearly squishing little Conan sleeping on a futon.

"Hey, watch it… " Conan mumbled blearily. "'m tryin' ta sleep here…"

Richard regarded Conan's small figure on the floor as his dream faded from his mind. "That… is one scary kid."


End file.
